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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488071">Oblivious</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bits and Pieces [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(For the scientist OC), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), But not normal underfell — the closest we get is Mr. G's ostentatious wardrobe, Can you tell I haven't visited Undertale in actual years?, Extraordinarily terrible puns near the end — but Sans is here you knew that going in., Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Suicide, The implied suicide is VERY vaguely referenced at best — but it's still important to tag., Underfell is... vaguely involved?, like an au of an au if you will — and the au isn't mine.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:47:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(A gift for Stealthnerd on Tumblr, dedicated to their lovely version of the Underfell AU.) </p><p>After many years of unknown absence, the royal scientist Doctor W.D. Gaster has returned from the void, a hell borne of his own creation, with a few nifty new ideas and a multitude of glowing red eyes under his belt. Whilst perhaps missing a few pieces and supplied with others, he is overall — for the most part — intact, and the lab has made great strides toward the betterment of monsterkind. </p><p>This is one ordinary absent day after his return; one of many, with nothing at all of note. </p><p>(What ever happened to the replacement royal scientist anyway?)</p><p>[Important warning regarding the tags in the beginning notes.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bits and Pieces [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oblivious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dedicated to Stealthnerd. Check them out on Tumblr for some top tier art and quality Gaster content, as well as important context for the entire universe this fic resides in. (This fic is also entirely non-canon for that AU — unless Stealthnerd decides otherwise, Igon and the events of this fic don't actually exist.)</p><p>This fic is essentially an experiment — if and when I write more, I'll probably place higher priority on the actual characters in the AU, but this was a pretty fun practice piece that kind of got away from me. Igon probably won't appear again directly, except perhaps in passing. </p><p>[VERY IMPORTANT WARNING!]</p><p>I don't actually know what happened to Alphys in this AU, since the source material isn't mine, but the original post I got this information from suggests that she may have... done something terrible. Thus, the tag. </p><p>(That being said, I sincerely hope she just hid out in a cave somewhere. Undyne, go get your girlfriend before she explodes. Thank you.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>In the wide, sterile halls of a laboratory, a single monster in a crisp white lab coat stood before a door, both familiar and not.</p><p>The door itself wasn't the abnormality of course — it had been there longer than the monster before it, perhaps even longer than most of the rest — but the interior that it protected had quite abruptly changed. There were still one or two small spots where tape residue lay, stuck in perfect distances to hold up a particularly resilient poster. It was strange, approaching this door and not seeing a smiling cartoon of a human with cat ears staring you down. Nonetheless, the monster reached out. Three knocks sounded against the door in quick succession — crisp, clean, and clear. It was almost like familiar music, accompanied by the light crinkle of paper shifting against a locked clipboard. After a moment of nothing, they spoke, calling out to a face they couldn't see from a door they couldn't open. </p><p>"Doctor Gaster? Sorry to bother you... I just — er. We had a few questions about the newest projects, and I have this report here —?"</p><p>Their sentence wilted away to nothing as footsteps, muted but still just barely audible, clicked their way over to the door. It swung open, and had the hinges faced the other way, they wondered idly if they would have broken their nose. As it was the door opened inward, and the being behind it tapped a blackened fingertip against the side as he tsked.</p><p>"Now what have I said about such formalities?" The looming monster chuckled lowly, mouth curled at the edges in a familiar smile, "honestly, what am I to do with you? I've said it before — Mr. G is fine. Doctor Gaster sounds so terribly <em> stuffy." </em></p><p>The face he made at the end of that sentence was an interesting one, the casual and dismissive nature of it opposed by his rather elaborate manner of dress. The brilliant red glow of his eyes didn't help with the illusion either. Even if one was able to disregard the multitude of vibrant, shifting, glowing red, the good Doctor had a penchant for wearing complicated and shifting patterns, almost like the swirls that erupted from a total loss of all light in a room. Embroidered onto blood-red velvet or silk, embedded and spun into ebony black tussore — it almost felt like he was subject to the shifts of the air, constantly moving and impossible to track, even as he stood stagnant. They blinked a few times, rubbing absently at their eyes. No dice. In the end they just averted their gaze, focusing on the cracks in the tile floor below. They felt it was probably fair to be at least a little tense — this really was technically their first one-on-one talk with the Doctor — but it didn't need to be this difficult. </p><p>"Right, sorry. It's just protocol, Doc — Mr. G." </p><p>They offered a slightly strained smile, pressed upon by their own awkwardness. No matter how friendly the Doctor was, he was still a legend among monsters that they had <em> somehow </em> all managed to temporarily forget, and that knowledge alone was enough to cow nearly anyone who knew of his efforts, much less those who had quite literally <em> worked in the building </em> and been none the wiser. The guilt of it was a heavy weight, enough to crush those who were unable to handle it; hell, even they, who considered themselves to be of decently stable constitution, found it difficult to speak to the man. It wasn't a fair judgment either, all things considered. He'd been incredibly open to any and all of the issues that had arisen in his absence, and whilst he was openly critical of the actions of his replacement, he had been quick to rectify and relieve anything he could almost immediately after resuming his position. It was kind of incredible — no, it was <em> blinding </em>— and it did nothing to make him seem more approachable. </p><p>Even so, he looked remarkably relaxed as he stood there, one hand propped on his hip as he squinted down at them. </p><p>"Igon Carnae?" </p><p>They flinched at the sound of their name, and their head snapped up, freed from their spiraling concerns. It took a moment to realize that he was reading their name tag; something he'd insisted be put into place almost as quickly as his solutions. </p><p>"That is your name, yes?"</p><p><em> In my absence, </em> he'd said, once he had narrowed down some of the staff to those he wished to keep, <em> I've been regrettably unable to memorize your names and faces. Forgive me, but I believe this will make the transition a bit easier for us all.  </em></p><p>Nobody had been against the idea — really, none of them had any reason to be to begin with — so wear the nametags it was. All the same, though that was technically the entire purpose of the little accessories, they weren't expecting him to <em> say </em> it. </p><p>"Yes sir. Er — excuse me, yes Mr. G, that's my name." </p><p>It was hard not to feel a little silly, clarifying that like it was something he needed help with, but Doctor Gaster seemed undeterred and completely oblivious. He smiled a little wider and opened the door completely, gesturing for them to follow him. </p><p>"Come in, come in. Quite honestly it's been a little while since anyone has come to my office instead of it being the other way around. Forgive the mess, I'm still cleaning a few things up."</p><p>He strode in, so they had little other options but to follow. The door closed cleanly behind them, and they were free to examine the room themselves. They heard a quiet <em> thunk, </em>like the Doctor had kicked something aside, but when they looked up there was nothing to be seen. </p><p>Actually, no. Not quite. Because even without the source, the room was — quite honestly — near completely unrecognizable. </p><p>They hadn't been in the room often before the Doctor's return, but from what they <em> had </em> seen, the cartoon poster that had been plastered to the front of the door previously had been but a harbinger to the cavalry of chaos that was the inside. Stacks upon stacks of old human tapes had lined the walls, marked with messy writing and clean labels, all near incomprehensible. What was it? <em> Mew </em> something? Either way, whatever it had been there was a lot of it, and it had taken up a decent amount of desk, wall, and shelf space. Posters similar to the first had been rolled up and tucked into corners, packed into boxes with a select few plastered upon the walls, side-by-side with the blueprints. It had also been quite messy aside from being crowded, filled with half-finished and opened notebooks and scribbled-on papers. </p><p>The room now lacked… well, <em> all </em>of that. </p><p>Where there had once been a variety of posters, blueprints and notes lined the corkboards. Scattered papers had been stacked in even piles, pencils and pens organized into smaller metal cups; the desk — which they found incredibly difficult to locate on their first visit a few years ago — was cleaned and possibly repainted, smooth marble instead of scratched up wood that was dented with old claw-marks. It was like the entire area had been wiped clean and remodeled, with no sign of the person who had owned it so recently. </p><p>
  <em> Wait.  </em>
</p><p>They swiveled slightly, and — there! </p><p>Shoved into a far corner, there was a series of packed-full boxes fit to burst with tapes, tied up rolls of paper, even little warped figurines, all unceremoniously dumped to the side. They could only just barely make out a slightly familiar set of handwriting, just a hint of a pink sticker plastered to the cover of one of the journals. </p><p>"Have a seat!" </p><p>The Doctor had at some point sat down himself, settled into a plush red chair that they didn't quite recognize. He gestured again toward its match, another settee with black decals and blood-red cushions. When they took it, they were surprised by how soft it was. Quality furniture didn't often wash up in good condition down in the underground these days, especially not in <em> sets — </em>perhaps it had been a gift from the king to welcome him back. That wouldn't surprise them, really. King Asgore truly was such a strange but loveable man. </p><p>Doctor Gaster — Mr. G, they corrected — crossed one knee over the other, blackened fingers interlocked as he directed his full attention toward them. </p><p>"Now then, how can I help you?" </p><p>They shrunk under his intense gaze, even though they felt a little bad for doing it. It couldn't be helped — one set of glowing red eyes was bad enough, but the multitude of gazes that peeked through the crack in his skull was enough to make them tense, and they had to physically force themselves to relax a little. </p><p>"Right. Well, uh — we — ahem. I'm sorry. A couple of us noticed that there were — uh."</p><p>They usually didn't stutter in the presence of other people; at least, not this <em> badly. </em>It was kind of embarrassing, even if they'd definitely seen worse in their time as a scientist employed here. Doctor Alphys had been infamous for that, the poor dear — she'd never been terribly confident, and everyone had done their best to support her when they could, especially when words wouldn't cooperate with her. Igon had never been close with her personally, but they'd at least been on decent terms — so they were a little hurt by the fact that she seemed to just vanish without a trace as soon as Doctor Gaster returned. It was understandable, certainly — it wasn't everyday that an old legend reared his head and popped out of some kind of void — but she'd done little else than nod in the few encounters they'd had afterward, and going by what their coworkers said, it was only more of the same for them. She'd never answer her phone, either, and none of them had a clue where she lived. She'd always stayed inside the lab. </p><p>When the days were slow, they would often spare a moment to wonder. What had ever happened to dear, sweet Alphys, with her quiet stutter and too-sad eyes. She'd stopped attending the lab shortly after the Doctor's return, and neither hide nor hair had been seen of her since — or scale, rather. Doctor Gaster — or Mr. G, as he insisted on being called — had been quick to do away with her piles upon piles of merchandise and manga that cluttered the lab's lower floors. The staff hadn't the chance to pry much further than that; dragged away by the influx of repair work that had been dumped upon them all upon his arrival. Honestly, they didn't often have time to ruminate on such things at all, what with the influx of new eyes suddenly focusing on their facility. The first few times they'd been identified in public as a member of the lab, they turned a vibrant shade of red as they sputtered for a reply. It was made worse by how the adjustment period of the workplace alone had been a hell of an undertaking — poor Steve had damn near had a heart attack when they all found out those hands Doctor Gaster created could <em> talk </em>at his expense — independent of the influence of other people. Perhaps that had been why Alphys vanished, crushed by the pressure of an old legend; she'd never been particularly hardy under pressure, after all. If nothing else, they could certainly understand that much.</p><p>They scrubbed a hand over their face to break themselves from their thoughts, exhaling quietly against the cool metal of a pen from their pocket. It was — of course — a gift, provided graciously by the good Doctor to anyone who passed his <em> criteria </em>; whatever those happened to be, anyway. It had never been specified, what those terms truly were — hardly any of the staff shared common traits with one another beyond the capability for paltry pleasantries and a healthy dose of self-preservation. It was a rather nice one though; all black save for a few elegant curls of gold, studded with red gemstones that almost seemed to glow when the light of the room dimmed. It was remarkably light and comfortable to hold for long periods of time, like it wasn't made of metal at all, and the dark ebony marks it left dried instantly — rather convenient for someone left-handed like themselves. It made paperwork easier, even if it couldn't do anything for the tedious nature of it; the Doctor was very firm when it came to punctuality, especially when giving reports. They'd used it exclusively for the report they intended to give him, should he opt to take it. </p><p>Regardless, the pen was a thoughtful, effective gift that facilitated productivity. That summarized the good Doctor quite well, too. </p><p>He was quite a strange man — <em> monster </em> — even from the very beginning. He emerged from what felt like everywhere and nowhere at once, popping into existence with a history on his heels and a brilliant red smile, slipping back into place like an unknown lost puzzle piece. Within a matter of days of resuming his position, many monsters had been shocked to realize he had been gone at all — most of all those who worked in the labs, stunned by old work at last being given a name, an origin, <em> a creator. </em>He was both everything and nothing like what they had expected; although if they really, truly thought about it, it was difficult to place expectations on what had been an almost obstructive blank space in their memory, one that had been managed so quickly that it was difficult to even recall the absence.</p><p>They cleared their throat. Now was not the time to linger on the past, especially not with Doctor Gaster waiting patiently for them to finish, not even batting an eye at their sudden pause. </p><p><em>Maybe he figured they couldn't find the nerve to speak to him, </em>they thought mutedly, <em>it wouldn't be entirely untrue. </em></p><p>"I'm sorry, Mr. G. We've just been struggling a bit with understanding what exactly it is that you're aiming for." They spoke a little faster than they'd meant to, but at least the thought came out coherently. </p><p>They offered up their clipboard, brows furrowed. He did indeed take it, beginning to absently scan through pages, but even as his eyes were locked on it, the eyes in his <em> skull </em> were looking at <em> them. </em> They weren't quite sure why the gaze made them shiver, like he was looking right into their SOUL. They continued quickly, breaking eye — eyes? — contact once more. </p><p>"There have been a few discrepancies when comparing instructions between departments," they admitted, "and a few of the others have been struggling with the make-up work being mixed with the rest. It's — um. It's a bit difficult to run new tests on data as old as what you've been asking for, sir. By all means, we can <em> try, </em>but considering the date on some of the samples, the information we do gather could be heavily impacted — " </p><p>He stopped them by raising one hand, eyes still flickering over the data. But slowly his gaze lifted up. They leant back a little, surprised. </p><p>"I understand," he sighed after a moment, "it really is quite a laborious task, isn't it. But I assure you, the information I'm looking for can be found just as easily now as it could have years ago, given the right amount of attention and detail." </p><p>Something about that sentence struck a different chord, like it was laced with something else. Something he wasn't saying, but still expressing, and they didn't quite know what it was. They glanced back at the piles of old belongings, still unclaimed by the doctor who had loved them so. It took a moment to dispel the chill, but they brushed it aside as quickly as they could. There were more important things to think about right now than old comrades. </p><p>"But sir," they said, "the data you're asking for is nearly —" </p><p>"I'm very well aware of how old what I'm looking for is, my friend." </p><p>Doctor Gaster leant a bit to the side, propping his face up against his knuckles. He held the clipboard out again, apparently done with whatever it was he'd been doing — had he really read it all that fast? Was that even possible? He continued, and they blinked. </p><p>"I am terribly sorry to put you all through this, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you all to trust me. Trust my methods. I will find my solution, and when I do, monsterkind will be better off for it. I'm looking for the same thing that everyone else has — a way to bring us to freedom. I apologize if I've been vague in those intentions." </p><p>They… didn't really have much to say in response to that. They didn't have much they <em> could </em> say in response to that. </p><p>Doctor Gaster, if nothing else could be said about him — and that was assuredly not the case — had been incredibly attentive, not only to the needs of the king, but to the townsfolk. It wasn't uncommon to hear monsters speaking idly of him even in smaller gatherings, and Igon themselves had more than once been asked about how the Doctor acted in person. The inquirer was often quite eager to hear what they had to say, incredibly grateful for the changes he'd made as soon as he'd been able. Even those who didn't particularly care for old legends or educated information seemed to support him, citing either Undyne's judgement or their faith in the people that they lived amidst. No matter where a monster lived, from Snowdin to Hotland, people came together and often to one consensus. </p><p>Doctor Gaster had long since proven himself to be every bit the genius the stories implied. </p><p>So what else could they say? </p><p>"... right. Of course — I'm sorry, sir." </p><p>"Please don't call me sir," he chuckled, leaning back a bit in his seat, "it makes me feel even older than I already do — and trust me, I feel <em> terribly </em>old, even if I'm not dust." </p><p>They found themselves smiling a little at the joke, worries eased if not completely. Things really had calmed down these days, and in the wake of that realization they were bereft to stir up needless trouble for troubles sake. </p><p>"Right, well. Um. That's all, Mr. G. Thank you for your time. I'll speak to the others and try to get them to relax a little. I apologize if I've caused — uh. If this troubled you." </p><p>He waved them off, shaking his head lightly. </p><p>"Not at all. I appreciate your concern for your work — it's why I decided to keep most of you after I returned to my position." His smile was more easy-going now, even as he stood. "There are an unfortunate number of people who wouldn't think twice about important issues like these — and those people, in my opinion, have no place in these halls." </p><p>They couldn't help but feel a little flattered by that, both for themselves and on behalf of their comrades. The others would be glad to hear that kind of praise from the famed Doctor Gaster, after all. They'd file that moment alongside some of the other highlights in their reel — the first breakthrough they'd ever made in the study of monster SOULs, the first trip they'd taken to Snowdin — prized near the top, if nothing else. </p><p>(Perhaps it was due to that flattery that they didn't quite detect the stiff undertone to the words, nor the quick-shot glance the taller monster sent toward the far corner full of old junk. His expression, near jovial if not for the large marred crack, shifted barely a centimeter. They didn't notice that either.) </p><p>Doctor Gaster walked them to the door, even going so far as to open it for them. They stepped out, offering a final wave — he returned it. He was smiling, even as they turned their back and walked toward the elevator. Nobody was around to watch as it dropped, slowly twisting into a displeased scowl once those doors closed. Not directed at the staff, of course — not directed at any scientist worth their salt. </p><p><em> With that done, </em> he thought, alone at last, irritated gaze locked on the far corner and the garbage — meaningless picture books, nonsensical failed notes and experiments — that had been left behind in <em> his </em> laboratory, <em> he could take care of the rest of the nonsense she'd left behind.  </em></p><p>"I wonder," he murmured aloud, that terrible grin creeping back up on his face; "does the incinerator still lead to the lava pools?"</p>
<hr/><p>Ideally, they would have walked right back into their station — Igon didn't make a habit of making small-talk with their coworkers mid-work day, even before Doctor Gaster's return. Of course, because things had gone so well with him, things needed to balance themselves out. </p><p>"...heya. Igon, right?" </p><p>Instinctively, they adjusted the name tag clipped to their lapel — <em> Igon Carnae.  </em></p><p>Igon glanced up from their clipboard, sparing only the briefest moment of direct eye contact with the short monster that stood before them, leaning almost lazily against the handle of his mop. He waved skeletal fingers at them, his permanent smile etched into bone. After a slightly awkward moment of silence they managed a smile of their own, although they couldn't quite meet his eyes. It didn't help that he was smeared in dirt and soot, practically caked around bone where his thin, blue janitor's uniform failed to protect him. </p><p>"Hello, Sans." Their tone was cordial if not a bit strained; most of the staff had been awkward around the skeleton for a while after his demotion at the hands of Doctor Gaster — that is, <em> Mr. G. </em> As a reflex, Igon clicked their pen a few times, tapping absently at the board. "How're you holding up?"</p><p>The latter part of their sentence softened a little. Awkwardness and personal biases aside, they'd always liked Sans as a coworker. His demotion was one of the few more contentious things Doctor Gaster had done, assuaged only by Sans himself graciously accepting the position, citing the fact that he preferred something that would let him relax. But strangely enough, they couldn't quite find that comfortable air he used to bring with him. </p><p>"Same old same old. <em> Tibia </em> honest, I'm havin' an <em> osteoblast </em>out here, cleaning everything up, y'know." </p><p>He winked, and they forced half a chuckle in reply, fiddling again with their pen. Even now he kept up with his puns in endless supply, seemingly undeterred by their lack of reaction. That at least hadn’t changed with his abrupt shift in status.</p><p>"Now my brother on the other hand," they paused, but he continued as if they hadn't; "he's not really suited for his line of work. But hey, what can'ya do, right?" </p><p>His casual tone sent a chill up their spine, but they offered a pasted on smile anyway. </p><p>"Your brother is remarkably strong," they offered, trying for honesty: "I'm certain that whatever the challenge is, he will rise to it well." </p><p>It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. </p><p>"Sure he will," Sans agreed, completely ignorant of the way the hall seemed to grow colder still with every breath; "but it's killin' me to see how this affects him, y'know? Finally in the royal guard, finally achieving his dream. You'd think he'd be happier, huh?" </p><p>They frowned. </p><p>Papyrus was… well he was <em> something. </em>A lot of somethings', really. Kind. Earnest. Energetic. (Some of those things were truer than others now; you'd have to lack eyes entirely to miss the slight slump of his shoulders, deaf to miss the knocking of his knees — Papyrus rarely appeared in public spaces, occupied constantly with his duties involving the royal guard.) Even they could admit to being worried about him now and again — but Doctor Gaster insisted that things were alright, and with Undyne backing his claims, it was hard to argue that anything was truly amiss. But with the hollow echo behind Sans' smile, you wouldn't be remiss in thinking that he was working himself to the bone — or… er. Something similar that was in less poor taste. Igon had never been one for puns, and they had a sinking feeling that for once, Sans wouldn’t either.</p><p>
  <em> Leave, quickly. Something about this wasn't right.  </em>
</p><p>"I — um. Look, Sans, I'm sorry. I have — these papers, its —"</p><p>"Oh," Sans' expression abruptly relaxed — <em> when had it become strained? </em>— and he tipped his skull back against the wall. "Got a report from the good doc, huh? Didn't know it was that time of the week. Don't let me keep you, then. I know how he gets." </p><p>A part of that sentence rang so falsely that they had to physically resist the urge to point it out, instead opting to nod. They didn't have time to analyze why Sans had purposefully cornered them like this. They'd take the out. </p><p>"Right — yes. Thank you. Good luck with — er. With cleaning." </p><p>"Yuuup," Sans drawled, dragging out the <em> u, </em>"thanks, pal." </p><p>The smile they traded over their shoulder as they carefully did <em> not </em>run away mixed awkwardly with their vague agreement, but they were relieved more than anything to escape that particular conversation. </p><p>Whatever was happening with the brothers, they had no clue. They spent more time in the lab than out of it these days — but the next time they saw Papyrus, maybe they'd ask if he was doing alright. Sans may be acting strangely, but he did know his brother best. </p><p>(Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Igon, they wouldn't get that opportunity for a long while. Not for lack of effort — but work continued and continued to build, needing more and more hands on deck at any given time to stabilize whatever sample had been brought in that day. But surely everything would be fine. </p><p>Right?)</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mr. G you manipulative madman, haha. </p><p>Once more, check out Stealthnerd on Tumblr! Their art is seriously absolutely fantastic, and I can only hope that this fic represents even a tiny sliver of their crazy good AU. I live for less-edgy Underfell, especially since I was never really into Undertale AUs. I was always just about the original game, so forgive me if that bleeds into the work a little too much. </p><p>Bonus points to anyone who figures out why I named the scientist Igon. </p><p>Completely and utterly unrelated, but I would punch Mr. G for what he said to Alphys if I thought I'd survive it. But I'm pretty sure the hit would kill me with poison damage alone, and if that didn't he definitely would.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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